


Music To His Ears

by Pixelatrix



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Disability, Friendship, M/M, Piano, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5628463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixelatrix/pseuds/Pixelatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recovering after defeating the Reapers, Xavier Shepard holes up in his apartment playing the piano.  He believes no one else is living in the building until someone starts throwing requests on paper through his window.</p><p>(Inspired by a post on Tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone enjoys it.
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos, subscriptions and comments.
> 
> Bioware Owns All, sadly.
> 
> Beta: CelticGrace & MissMeggo929

_Let It Be._

It was a piece of music which Xavier Shepard could play in the dark—and often did.  His eyes had been slightly injured after the war and as a result been sensitive to harsh light.  Four months since the Crucible destroyed the Reapers, he still suffered with it amongst so many other things.

The war had taken friends, family and his right leg from just below his knee.  His parents had been on Arcturus during the initial invasion.  They’d never stood a chance.  Doctors had promised his sight would recover within the year, but his heart hurt with an immense pain he feared would never fade.

Xavier left the hospital after receiving the latest technically advanced prosthetics for his leg.  He’d immediately moved into a spacious apartment in a newly rebuilt building in London.   The quarters were all for officers—though none had chosen to move in.

His only request as far as furniture had been for a baby grand piano.  The first floor apartment had been big enough for it.  He’d enjoyed Anderson’s so much on the Citadel.  It had been a shame to discover the beautiful instrument had been destroyed.

In the grand scheme of everything lost, his piano really didn’t matter much to anyone other than Xavier.  He’d been shocked when Liara managed to find one for him.   Vega, Cortez and Alenko had moved it in for him.

Most of the _Normandy_ crew came to see him frequently.  They seemed to take it in shifts.   They seemed to fear he would sink into the pit of depression without them.

Cortez and Alenko brought him food.  Traynor came with a housekeeper who cleaned while she caught the Commander up on his messages and reports.  Chakwas visited with Adams to ensure he was keeping up with his medication and physical therapy.  Vega’s sole mission seemed to be to cheer him up while Zaeed brought whiskey, cigars and sat with him in silence.

He liked those visits best. 

And Xavier?

He sat at his piano playing.  All day.  Every day.

The officers’ building had mostly been a ghost town.   Xavier preferred it that way.  He could pound away at the piano without worrying about annoying his neighbours.

His first clue someone had moved in come in the form of a note thrown through his open window.  _Piano Sonata no. 14 in c sharp minor._  Xavier could honestly say he’d never received a request from the heavens before.  He tried to catch a glimpse, but saw no one.

Sitting down at his piano to play, Xavier tested out the keys a bit.  He hadn’t played classical pieces in ages.  He’d always tended toward the music from the 1900s, particular the Beatles.  He _loved_ playing their music.  Most modern piano pieces were a little too esoteric for him.

At first glance, Xavier didn’t _look_ like a pianist.  He had over twenty tattoos covering his chest, arms, neck and back.  He still had his brown hair shorn in the familiar military buzz-cut—still wore fatigues and one of his many N7 t-shirts.

Still bore the scars from his battles.

The music flowed into the room just as it did on his body.  Almost every one of his tattoos drew inspiration from a piece of sheet music.  The bars for Let It Be covered his entire back. 

He played the sonata repeatedly—over thirty minutes.  A quiet clapping came from the balcony directly above his when he finally lifted his hands away.   He wondered who the mysterious eavesdropper was.

His attempt to continue the recital was interrupted by his weekly visit from Vega.  He’d likely come to make yet another attempt at convincing Xavier to go out for drinks.

He meant well.

The entire crew meant well.

They didn’t seem to understand Xavier couldn’t deal with people anymore.  Everyone wanted a piece of Commander Shepard.  They had his leg—his parents—more than his pound of flesh.  What more could they possibly want from him?

The Alliance hadn’t liked that response when they’d asked him to appear at a commemoration ceremony for a memorial at the sight of the final battle.  Xavier hadn’t given two shits what they thought.  It was too soon.

He rubbed his knee above his prosthetic, both his legs propped up on the couch.  The phantom pains hadn’t disappeared.  His Asari doctor had done wonders with his ‘new limb.’  He hadn’t wanted to experiment further though.

“You gonna be okay, loco?”

“I finally have a neighbour.” Xavier gestured to the crumpled paper nearby, pointedly ignoring his question.

“Neighbour?” Vega’s brow furrowed before he seemed to remember something. “The Admiral.”

_Admiral?”_

“Oh? Which one?”

“Hackett.”

As Vega moved on to the latest gossip from the Alliance, Xavier found himself thinking about the blue-eyed admiral.  He hadn’t seen Hackett in months—hadn’t thought about him either.  It was easier to forget the living in his attempts to avoid dwelling on the dead.

“Loco…Shepard?” Vega waved a hand in front of his face. “Shit. You’re not having an episode, are you? That’s Esteban’s area of expertise.”

“An episode?” Xavier sent a low-powered biotic pulse at him. “GO screw yourself. Oh, and stop drinking my damn beer.”

“Not my fault you buy the good shit.”

He threw a second blue orb at the man. “Out.  Or I’ll tell the doc you messed with my recovery. You’ve made your weekly ‘the Commander’s not offed himself’ visit. Go away and let me play in peace.”

He wouldn’t tell the doc.  Vega knew it. But the lieutenant also knew he’d strayed too close to a touchy subject.  He said his goodbyes and wisely left. 

Up to this point, everyone had gone out of their way to avoid mentioning his biotic meltdown.  Xavier hadn’t initially handled his loss of limb well.  He’d destroyed one of the wards at the hospital.  It had been Hackett who saved him from a lengthy stay with the head doctors.

The Admiral had claimed Xavier simply needed to have his own space to recover.  No one wanted to argue with Hackett.  So they’d shipped the Commander off to an apartment building which housed _no one_ else.

Xavier had tried not to take it personally.  He didn’t want neighbours after all.  It had driven him to prove them wrong—to prove he hadn’t lost it.

He tapped one of the keys absently and frowned when it sounded off-key.  He’d have to see if he could find a piano tuner to fix it.  Were any still alive in London?

_Damn war._

The following morning, Xavier found a young woman with a bag in her hand standing at his door.  A piano tuner.   She’d been sent by his new neighbour to fix his piano.  The sheet music handed over had also apparently been a gift—another sonata by Chopin this time.

What _was_ Hackett up to?

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoys it.
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos, subscriptions and comments.
> 
> Bioware Owns All, sadly.
> 
> Beta: CelticGrace & MissMeggo929

_Yesterday._

The sheet music for ‘Yesterday’ had been hidden amongst his weekly food delivery last Monday.  Xavier had no idea how Hackett managed it—if it were the man.  Every week for four months, a new request for his playing found its way to his apartment.

All random styles and genres.

Always a different method of delivery.

This week’s had been a sonata which arrived alongside a lamp specially made to sit on his piano.  Earlier in the month one had come with a six pack of his favourite beer. He’d received all sorts of small gifts with the music.

After four months of this, Xavier’s curiosity got the better of him.  He left his apartment for the first time in a long while and made his way up to the second floor to pound on the door.  The longer this went on, the more it unnerved him.

_Why was Hackett doing this?_

“Commander.”

Xavier frowned at the grey-haired, blue-eyed man standing in front of him in an old marine t-shirt and Alliance issue sweatpants.  He preferred _not_ to consider how those trousers clung to certain parts of the admiral’s anatomy.  He was confused enough as it was. “Why are you sending me shit?”

“Eloquent, as always, Commander.”

“It’s _Xavier_.” He snapped then winced at how harsh he’d sounded. “I prefer my name—and not a rank when I’ve fucked off out of the Alliance.  And why are you giving me shit?”

“You have to admit, it did get you out of your apartment into the fresh air.”

“The hell? Was this some bizarre fucking plot to get me outside?” Xavier found himself uncomfortable with how much the thought bothered him. “Seriously? You all need to get fucking lives. I’m _fine._ ”

He wasn’t.

But he didn’t need babysitters either.

“Not quite.”

“But…you just said?”

Hackett stepped back to invite him into his apartment, but Xavier didn’t move.  “More an elaborate scheme to ask you out on a date.”

The admiral seemed remarkably human in what was obviously his workout gear.  And his bare feet.  Xavier probably shouldn’t dwell too much about either of those facts.

“You want to ask me out on a date? Why the hell would you want a damaged ex-marine like me? I’m all wrong for you.” Xavier barely resisted the urge to yank his prosthetic off and wave it in the man’s face. “I don’t need your pity…anyone’s pity for that matter.  I’m fine.”

“Those are two separate issues, Com…Xavier.  You have my sympathy and not my pity for what you’ve endured.  You are quite clearly _not_ fine.  I can hear your screams from your night terrors as well as I can hear the music you play to soothe yourself after them.  I can promise you that my desire to have you over for dinner has _nothing_ to do with your suffering from post-traumatic stress after the war and all to do with the amazing man that you are.” Hackett reached out with an air of total confidence to rest his hand firmly on Xavier’s shoulder.  He squeezed once then simply let it stay there. “One meal.  And I promise it won’t be an MRE.  I can even come over and cook in your place if you don’t want to brave the outdoors—or my apartment.”

“I don’t have nightmares.” Xavier crossed his arms and glared at the man, feeling annoyingly like a petulant child.

“So why do you scream?”

“Hot sex.”

“With whom? Yourself?” Hackett raised an eyebrow, disbelief evident in his face.

Xavier tried to brush it off with a grin, but it was harder to evade with the admiral—always had been. “What happens in my house is my business.  I left the Alliance to avoid shit like this.”

“What? People caring about your welfare?” Hackett tightened his grip on Xavier, pulling him inside his apartment and guiding him over to the sofa in the living room. “You can’t keep pushing everyone away because you feel guilty about the ones you couldn’t save.”

“How…”

“I’ve been a marine for a long time.  I’ve lost friends and soldiers who served under me.  Hell.  I ordered the evacuation from Earth, knowing I would be leaving hundreds of thousands to die while we tried to rally a fleet large enough to end the reapers.” Hackett poured himself a drink and grabbed a beer which he handed over to the younger man. “War is hell.  You aren’t meant to escape it without suffering some sort of scars—physical or otherwise.  You’re not alone. Why do you insist on handling it like you are?”

“I’m fine.” His protest sounded weak even to his own ears.   He sat up and squared his shoulders, tilting his head back slightly while glaring at the admiral who merely swirled his scotch and smiled in return. “You can take your…”

“Save it.” Hackett cut him off sharply. “I’m not going to be chased away by this wounded warrior angst you’ve been wallowing in.  So you can head off to your apartment and I’ll continue to send gifts until you cave.  Or you can say yes, I’ll fix you dinner and maybe you’ll realize you might not be _fine_ now, but you will eventually.”

“Wounder warrior angst?” Xavier contemplated chucking his bottle of beer at the man. “What? And how will crying on your shoulder help with that?”

“I could give you platitudes like Karin would on the benefits of pain shared being halved.  But you’d call bullshit and leave.” Hackett got to his feet, waving for the former commander to follow him.  “I’ll make burgers for us instead.”

While Xavier’s apartment had been all about his piano, Hackett’s appeared to have been _all_ about the kitchen.  It was impressively large and lavishly equipped.  The barefoot admiral moved around with an easy comfort.

The sweatpants started to ride lower on Hackett’s hips.  Xavier found himself entertained by watching the man’s frustration with tugging them up while he cooked.  It was sexy in an understated way he really appreciated.

Burgers to Xavier meant something simple with cheese and maybe ketchup.  Hackett appeared to believe in making them an experience.  He made what he called ‘Eggs Benedict Burgers.’ 

An hour later, Xavier slouched comfortably on the admiral’s couch with a beer and a full stomach.  He was drowsy in a food coma.  The alcohol probably hadn’t helped much either.    It left him vulnerable to wanting to talk.

He started.

And couldn’t stop.

Hackett listened without interrupting while Xavier spewed all his pent-up thoughts on everything from dying to Cerberus to the war to losing his leg.  He only spoke up when silence had fallen.  “Feel better?”

“No, I feel like shit.” Xavier glared at the man. “Why are you doing all of this?”

“Because I can.”

“I’ll forgive your full of shit answer since you fed me.” He chugged down the last of his beer. “Is this about ‘saving the cripple’ or are you really interested in this date thing?”

Hackett considered him carefully for several moments then got to his feet to close the distance between them.  He bent forward to press their lips together.  “You are _not_ a cripple and you do not need anyone to save you.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Food Reference: http://pixelatrix.tumblr.com/post/137173778646/foodandwine-dennis-prescott-burger-love-of


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end for now. I plan to come back to this for at least one more chapter at some point. When I initially had the idea for this, I planned on it being a long one-shot. So it got a little longer than I thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoys it.
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos, subscriptions and comments.
> 
> Bioware Owns All, sadly.
> 
> Beta: CelticGrace & MissMeggo929

Four weeks.  Six dates.  Sixteen long into the night conversations.  An untold number of hours spent playing the piano while Hackett simply sat quietly and listened.

Xavier had exchanged a number of increasingly intense kisses with the man.  He had found himself being slowly drawn out of his self-enforced hermitage.  His former crew were obvious in their elation over it.  He’d even agreed to attend a barbeque being thrown by Kaidan and Steve.

It had _seemed_ a good idea at the time.  Hackett would be there.  Xavier figured it would be a good test to see how their budding relationship worked around others.

One of their many talks had been about Hackett’s interest in him.   He found it hard to believe the admiral had been watching him for years.  But it was apparently true.  The Alliance regulations had prevented him from acting along with his position of authority. 

Hackett hadn’t wanted to take advantage of the younger officer.  _Take advantage?_ Xavier had been quick to assure him that would’ve been the last thing on his mind. 

Upon arrival at the barbeque, Xavier almost immediately knew coming had been a mistake.    _Too many people._   Everyone wanted to chat with him.  They all had questions—so many fucking questions.  He bolted from the backyard, ignoring all the calls for him to return. 

“Xavier? Don ‘t go.”

He continued striding toward the shuttle which they’d travelled in.  Hackett jogged to catch up to him and moved smoothly around to block his escape. “Get out of my way.”

“Not until you try again.”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe eventually.” Hackett leaned against the shuttle door. “I remember the first time I found myself drawn to you.  It was after Elysium.  I saw you standing proudly, receiving a medal.  You still had a few marks on your face from the battle.  I wanted to meet the man beneath the armour to get to know you better.  You are strong enough to enjoy the company of your friends for a few hours.  Come back to the barbeque with me.”

“Why?”

“I want to see Karin choke on her beer when I kiss you.” Hackett’s smile turned more playful than Xavier thought possible. “One beer. If you still want to go afterward, I won’t say a word.”

Something about the honest concern in Hackett’s eyes changed his mind.  Xavier grumbled all the way back to the house.  He grabbed a fresh beer and collapsed into a deckchair by the large pool.

He was being petulant.

And he didn’t fucking care.

“Have a steak.” Cortez sat beside him and handed him a plate. “So…we couldn’t help but notice Hackett has a really nice ass.  I had no idea he had that underneath the uniform.”

“ _Steve._ ”

“Enjoy your steak.”

The crew had wisely backed away.  They approached him one at a time, instead of all cornering him at once.  He barely saw Hackett for the next hour and a bit.

It gave him time to relax and enjoy himself.  The initial embarrassment at having stormed off slowly disappeared.   If they didn’t make a massive issue out of it, maybe Xavier didn’t have to either.

He truly allowed himself to relax for the first time since the war began.   When the deckchair beside his eventually became empty, Hackett moved over to join him.  They sat in silence, watching everyone around them enjoying themselves.

He closed his eyes to bask in the bright sunlight, thankful his sensitivity to light had gotten better. “This could be good.”

“Could?” Hackett reached over to take his hand.

“Good odds.” Xavier thought perhaps for the first time since losing his leg that the odds were good on him finding happiness. “I’m looking forward to seeing where this shit goes.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Xavier Face/body Reference:  
> http://pixelatrix.tumblr.com/post/136113610961/underwearnewsbriefs-alex-minsky-in-jackadamsusa
> 
> Tattoo References:  
> http://pixelatrix.tumblr.com/post/136280506386  
> http://pixelatrix.tumblr.com/post/136280404376  
> http://pixelatrix.tumblr.com/post/136280347686/cbryanto-piano-keyboard
> 
> Music Reference:  
> http://pixelatrix.tumblr.com/post/136280728421/via-httpswwwyoutubecomwatchv-ddmafu54aqo  
> http://pixelatrix.tumblr.com/post/136557876621/via-httpswwwyoutubecomwatchv-n-pwpirw9fy


End file.
